


Blood & Ink

by Lady_GothiKa



Series: Sweet & Sour - Victor Zsasz [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Inappropriate Humor, Non-wholesome reader, Pre-Gotham (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_GothiKa/pseuds/Lady_GothiKa
Summary: Victor Zsasz had one job; bring you back to Gotham to face Don Falcone.And of course, you have no desire to make it easy for him.





	Blood & Ink

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while bored. It's very extra. I am sorry.

 

 

 

“I hate to break it to you Karen but your son is a fucking _knob.”_

 

Seriously though, how was this your fault? The kid was like what.. _six foot two?_   Not to forget, he was already sprouting a thick fuzz on his chin. If anyone is gonna walk through those glass doors and request to have a unicorn eating a burrito tattooed on their ass, you weren't going to be asking their age, more like _‘How fucking high are you?’_

 

Needless to say, the concerned mother on the end of the telephone wasn’t overly content with your _lack_ of empathy; if only she had only _swallowed_ her pride, in the beginning, she wouldn’t be in this predicament now would she, _the poor dear._

 

It was times like this you had come to realize that dropping out of art school was ultimately another one of your famous piss poor ideas. In that case you’ll admit to a fraction of it being your fault, but most of it would belong to your _now_ shitty ex-boyfriend; _like all the mediocre men in your life._ Everyone told you he was bad, did you believe it? _Fuck no_ , you were too busy zoning out on the British twang and glaring into those baby blue eyes, plus that dark hair that did that curly _swishy_ thing in the rain… you had priorities _after all._ Though as life would have it, everyone was right, and you were found wrong yet again.

 

It became pretty clear soon why he wanted to leave town once the GCPD kicked the doors down. Where is your douchebag ex now, you may ask? In Blackgate for theft, money laundering, assault and three counts of public indecency - which just so happen not to involve you in the slightest _, the jackass._

 

In the present day, your new co-worker Amy had just arrived back from lunch. She seemed like a decent young girl enough except for the fact she smells awfully a lot like car freshener and remains a firm believer that mermaids are in fact _real._

 

On the plus side, it looks like she bought you a sandwich, so in the meantime, you _might_ be able to overlook all that.

 

“And a good day to you too Kar-” The line beeped, a definite sign the old hag on the other end had finally hanged up; _you couldn’t be more upset._

 

Amy placed your lunch down in front of you, giving you an eye full. _“Another one, huh?”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even after hours, your shitty mood persisted onward. Locking up shop you heard Amy try to reassure you on the way out, “I wouldn’t worry about it babe, she was just being peachy. Unicorns can’t eat burritos cause y’know, they don’t have fingers-” Her voice falls silent as you lock the door, turning the key.

 

“What do you unicorns even eat exactly?”

 

“Candy -” You sigh, pocketing the keys into your coat. “Also meth.” _Everyone fucking knows that Amy._

 

As you walk down the street you can’t help but notice it feels awfully cold and bleak. Amy keeps talking, and you keep ignoring till she physically stops you, grabbing you with an outstretched hand, snagging your sleeve. “That car, the black one -” her eyes move towards its direction, just behind you across the road. Her voice is low and you can’t help but notice the creepy dark-tinted windows.

 

“Have you ever seen that one before? I could have sworn I saw it when I went out and got us lunch, and again this morning when I arrived at the parlor.”

 

You think about it for a moment, then shrug it off. “It’s probably just an undercover cop or something, don’t worry about it.”

 

Your coworker scratches the back of her neck and let's you go. _“Or_ the men in black, it could be aliens,” She snickered running back to your side.

 

_Considering the news lately…_ “Hey, do you want to go get drinks later tonight?” She asked over your own stupid thoughts.

 

Drinks? It couldn’t come soon enough, you’d leap at any chance to drown out any and all feelings at this point. Despite the well known fact you could drink an Irishman out of his rent money.

 

However, for the rest of the walk home, you couldn’t help but look back and _wonder._

 

_The car didn’t move._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shit, _shit_ , shit. Where were your keys? The hall spun and your legs wobbled under your own weight. Somehow along the way you had lost both of your shoes, now you were standing barefoot outside your door in dark laddered pantyhose.

 

_This wasn’t your most glamorous look by far._

 

Lucky for you it was at midnight, and he taxi driver on the hand seemed pretty amused by it all; at least someone was having a decent time. All you wanted to do was curl up or throw up; either at this stage would work.

 

You finally managed to get the door to open, evidently a lesser drunk version of you determined it was a _better_ idea to keep the door unlocked, _bless her heart_.

 

You crawl in on your hands and knees; it feels safer by far, slamming the door closed with the back of your heel.

 

Everything spins and nothing makes much sense, especially that big, black, ominous blur in the distance by the window.

 

Oh, it’s getting closer. _Well, hello there._

 

Before you know it’s peering over you, lanky and… _Hmm,_ are those legs? Black pants, black shoes...a fancy suit jacket… _which is black as well, has this thing heard of color?_

 

Ah, attempting to look up, you try to make out a face but all you see is a white smudge. _How odd._

 

_“Keanu Reeves?”_

 

You hear a faint chuckle and a slight _tsk_ of a tongue. “It’s Victor Zsasz,” He paused, “if reminding you is necessary.”

 

You can’t help but notice his voice is as smooth as his scalp. Oh god… _that name,_ it sounded so familiar, where had you heard it before? it feels like you surely have. Yet, without any aid, you were left baffled and remain perplexed.

 

Now narrowing your eyes, you licked your lips trying to hold yourself together. “So...what are you exactly - some kinda…. _Russian DJ?”_

 

It’s clear by this point you’re too drunk to take anything seriously, you just end up laughing till you have tears in your eyes, neglecting the whole - _there’s a strange bald Keanu Reeves looking fucker in your home._

 

_It could be worse._

 

The man’s smile broadens and his eyes darkened happily, “Hitman mostly, sometimes babysitter, occasional delivery boy.”

 

Oh fuck.

 

_OH fuck!_

 

Even being this drunk you understood that Death = Bad.

 

This was clearly your prompt to your leave. First, you have to stand up of course.

 

Victor wasn't agitated by your movement, it seems like he foresaw it. By the time you stand, you try to pick up a certain amount of speed.

 

The hitman seems amused enough to walk after you at a steady pace, “You can run but you _can’t-”_

 

Before he can finish speaking, you fall to your knees with a not-so-majestic tumble to the ground beneath. _Christ that hurt._

 

“ _-Perhaps-_ forget that last part.” Oh how the tables turn, now he’s the one laughing at you.

 

_God, he may be a stranger but you already abhor this man like an old lover._

 

Quickly you dart behind the kitchen counter. _Okay,_ running isn’t going to work here, your vision is blurry at best and you still want to puke, _great._ You should try to grab something, you conclude. You’re in the kitchen after all, and not all of your knives are blunt as fuck, just _like_ a good 98% of them.

 

But, he doesn’t know that does he?! _Ha._

 

“Stand back. I got a - I gotta…” Ah, fucking hell. The draw was jammed, stupid bloody, cock sucking spatula! _AGAIN!_

 

And of course, Mr. DJ V-Zizzle was right there in front of you lifting his palms and giving a consoled look like _, ‘Don’t worry girl, take your time, I’ll be here till Friday.’_

 

Well, fuck him and your messy kitchen draws.  

 

Subsequently, after what seems like a good couple of awkward moments of tugging and straining your elbow like a cheap hustler, something moves and _huzzah_ it opens.

 

So where were we? _Right,_ the stabbing part. You grab the first thing, holding it tight in your grasp. “-I’ll stab your bitch-ass if you come any closer, you smooth -” _-kinda-_ moderately attractive, _Oh my..._ Your eyes finally scan over him, this adrenaline was making everything a lot clearer. The guy himself was somewhere between the lines of ‘ _It’s not a phase mom!'_ And _\- ‘She calls me daddy now.’_

 

Wow, this was a really inappropriate time to be checking out the guy who’s here to murder you.

 

“-You smooth - _pancake_ looking motherfucker!”

 

Jeez, that was an atrocious insult even for your standards.

 

Yet the assassin dude looks generally drawn back. Did you bruise his ego maybe? No, he sorta cracks a smirk behind that devilish grin, bare eyebrows knitting together causing a crease on the top of his forehead.

 

His dark eyes weren’t looking at you, more towards your hand than back to you, giving an all to sudden hint before he literally has to point it out with a long slender finger dressed in a large silver ring.

 

_What?_

 

Oh, shit. You’re holding a potato masher!

 

_Maybe you were still a tad out of it._

 

_Well, clearly._

 

Oh dear, at this point first impressions were thoroughly out the window. _There will be no sleeping with him now._ Oh god, “just kill me now,” you murmured to yourself.

 

_It was by far the worst choice words you could have adhered together._

 

_“So_ impatient.” The man lets out a small breathy snicker behind his vile cat grin. _“If you insist.”_

 

Oh god, oh god, if only you were more wholesome maybe you could kneel down and pray… or something. Ah well, _Strike true oh holy potato masher, strike your wrath upon thy demon!_  You threw it at the man; it hits him in the shoulder.

 

He seems unfazed, still, he pauses just to cringe and sass you a little, “ _Ouch, that hurt.”_ He places his hand to the marked area and gives you sad eyes and a sarcastic trembled lip.

 

Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I get you’re here to kill me, but you don’t have to be an ass about it!”

 

Or maybe he does, remarkably enough, even a with a mouth like yours, you had never had the pleasure of being in this of sort situation before. In other words; _go easy on me baby, it’s my first time._

 

Whelp, you had no more plans.

 

_I guess I’ll just die then._

 

“If only.” The assassin finally revealed, he seemed down about it. _Awh,_ you wish you could feel for the guy if only didn’t involve your impending doom and all that. “This is actually a delivery job.”

 

_Like...what, eBay?_

 

“My boss, Don Falcone requires your presence back in Gotham, Ms. Maroni - I hope you’re travel ready, it will be a long drive.”

 

_Oh -_

 

Oh god.

 

_He didn’t…_

 

No, it’s all coming back -

 

_Not the memories…_

 

_The…_

 

You couldn’t help it, the sound of the name alone had provoked something _deep_ inside of you.

 

Which was mostly a sandwich, a bottle of wine, and several other unknown liquors... _plus maybe a good handful of pistachios.._

 

In a flash, it was out, over you, over him, on the floor, pretty much everywhere within a one-meter radius.

 

_Ah._

 

_Your throat burns._

 

You don’t feel well, maybe you should lie down and take a nap...

 

Everything is quiet or maybe it isn’t… you can’t tell, why are you laying on the floor?  

 

You close your eyes, your mind swims within the darkness… Victor Zsasz, _Victor Zsasz…_

 

That name sounded so familiar….

 

Didn’t you use to have the biggest crush on him when you were thirteen?

 

_Well, fuck._

 


End file.
